


that's my shirt

by InLust



Series: the case of roommates [1]
Category: Miss Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Boundaries, Domesticity, F/F, Misinterpreted Situations, Old Married Couple, Pre-Relationship, Roommates, Unresolved Sexual Tension, classic sherlock/wato arguing, clothes swapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 22:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15519696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InLust/pseuds/InLust
Summary: Wato decides to get even with Sherlock over a ruined shirt





	that's my shirt

**Author's Note:**

> well i wasn't expecting to write this but i did and it's full of double entendres  
> could be canon compliant or post season 1 but its basically sherlock/wato being obviously gay and married but they aren't yet  
> also have yall not noticed that underneath those demure sacks they keep putting wato in, she kinda thicc jussayin'

Wato has to unbutton the top button. She forgets how much slimmer Sherlock is compared to her. The button pops open and she tugs at the collar to give herself some air. 

The white shirt looks different on her. 

_ Of course it looks different. It’s Sherlock’s. It barely fits me.  _

Not that it was uncomfortable. Sherlock has so many of the same white button up that she likes to wear. Wato understands it now. The fabric is smooth and rich against her skin; it feels cool and airy despite how tight it is around her shoulders and arms. She unbuttons the cuffs and folds them up to her wrist.

With a tilt her of her head in the mirror, she unbuttons another button. She takes a deep breath and watches as her bosom noticeably heaves underneath the white shirt. She hasn’t worn anything this... _fit_ before. 

_This will show her._ Wato thinks to herself. _Taking my shirt without asking me and then ruining it in her insane experiments._

Wato finishes making Sherlock’s coffee as she works on mastering Bach’s Suite No. 2. When she steps into the room, the music comes to an end. 

Sherlock is wearing black underneath her shimmering gold robe. Her hair falls perfectly around her face even if it’s so early in the morning. 

Wato smiles as Sherlock puts down her cello carefully and twists the bow like she usually does. 

She sets the coffee down with a quiet clink, eyes still trained on Sherlock. There’s a cheeky smile she can only share with herself as she steps back. “I’m going to make breakfast for myself.”

Sherlock softly grunts in acknowledgement and stands up to take her coffee. 

In that moment, Sherlock notices it. Wato can see it across the taller woman’s face. Sherlock’s eyes widen, pupils dilating to take in Wato before her. She scans Wato, blinking a few times as if she doesn’t believe it. She swallows audibly as she shuts her mouth. In a quick second, Sherlock’s shock eases into indignation just like Wato expects.

“That’s my shirt.” Sherlock’s voice comes out tight almost squeaking. 

Wato smiles and nods. “Yes. It’s your shirt.” She stretches out her arms and looks down the sleeve before feeling around her abdomen. “Not bad, ne?” She even twists so Sherlock can see the back. “I can see why you have so many of these. It’s very comfortable!” 

Sherlock squeaks quietly, reaching towards Wato. “S-stop that!” She whines. “That’s my shirt!” She repeats petulantly, anger finally slipping through. 

Wato narrows her eyes and crosses her arms, feeling the fabric tighten around her shoulder and chest. “You took my shirt,” she rationalizes before Sherlock. 

“Gah,” Sherlock pinches the bridge of her nose quickly. “That’s different!” She sucks in a breath, obviously trying to contain her emotions. 

“How so?” Wato eggs on.

Sherlock steps into Wato’s space, face brightly red. She reaches for both of her wrists. “The sleeves are too long for you.” Wato clicks her tongue in annoyance at Sherlock as she continues to prod. Sherlock pats her shoulders hard. “Your shoulders are broader than mine by approximately 4 cm.” Her hand grasps the nape of Wato’s neck. “Your neck is 2 cm larger.” Wato slaps away her hand. Sherlock steps closer and slips her hands under Wato’s to feel just below her breasts. 

“Sherlock!” Wato screeches in shock, slapping her hands quickly. 

“Despite what you wear, you are a C-Cup obviously,” Sherlock continues before patting her hips, “and your hips are what people call, child bearing. Child bearing!” She runs her hands through her hair in frustration. “You’re going to ruin my shirt!” 

Again, Sherlock sucks in a breath in frustration. 

“Ah ha!” Wato yells with triumph, startling Sherlock to step back. “I told you that yesterday!” Sherlock winces at the yelling and claps her hands over her ears. “You didn’t ask for my permission to borrow my shirt and you did it anyway! And you _ruined_ it!”

Sherlock recovers from the yelling as if she figured out what Wato wants. “Ah, fine fine. I’ll get you a new shirt. Just stop ruining _mine_!” She reaches for Wato.

Wato slaps away her hands. “Ne! I don’t want just a new shirt. I want you to apologize,” she chastises quickly. “You touched my stuff without permission.” 

“I told you I needed your shirt,” Sherlock tries to remind as she reaches for Wato again. 

Wato catches her hands this time and it startles Sherlock. “What’re you trying to do?” 

Sherlock’s lithe fingers slip out from Wato’s and she reaches again, this time finding purchase at the collar of the button up. “What’s it look like? I want my shirt back!”

Wato gasps trying to step back, slapping at Sherlock’s hands starting to unbutton the top. “That’s not how you get your shirt back,” Wato cries out. “You can’t just--”

“You shouldn’t have put it on in the first place,” Sherlock argues as she chases after Wato. Hands somehow still able to catch the edges of the white shirt and unbuttoning it. 

“Sherlock!” Wato squeals trying to grasp Sherlock’s alarmingly fast hands. “Stop it! We can’t do this out here!” 

“I don’t want my shirt to get ruined!” Sherlock whines. “Take it off!” 

“At least let me do it in my room,” Wato argues, still slapping at Sherlock’s hands still. 

“No, right now,” Sherlock insists as she steps forward. 

Wato still tries to retreat but she doesn’t pay attention and her hips hit the edge of the chair and she feels her feet trip over themselves. In a second, she feels the ground slip from underneath her completely and she squeaks, reaching out for Sherlock’s hands.  

Her back hits the ground with a thump and Sherlock’s weight comes crashing down on top of her. She feels the tangle of their legs and Sherlock’s chest against hers. 

“Ahh, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” Wato groans through the pain in her back. She picks up her head and comes within a breath of Sherlock’s completely shocked face. 

Sherlock desperately tries to look elsewhere that isn’t Wato’s face but she doesn’t move. Wato’s eyes grow larger at the sudden proximity and the growing heat between their two bodies. 

“Sherlock,” Wato practically whispers. She can see the way Sherlock’s face starts to get pink as she snaps her attention to Sherlock. In the corner of her eyes, she sees Sherlock’s arms boxing her. 

“Ah?” Sherlock dumbly responds. She swallows slowly again and Wato’s eyes follow the bob of her neck suddenly interesting before her eyes trail back up to her lips. Sherlock notices too and eyes flicker to Wato’s lips. 

Wato is too scared to breath because if she does-- _she’s so close_. 

Sherlock doesn’t move either. She just stares at Wato as if she’s never seen her before. 

“Sherlock,” Wato calls again, unintentionally exhaling her name like a prayer. 

“Wato,” Sherlock almost reverently returns. She feels closer, extremely close. “Wato.” She lets out again, this time strained. 

Suddenly, Sherlock’s head snaps up and Wato stares upside down to where Sherlock is staring. The door is opening with the sound of Miss Hatano’s voice.

Miss Hatano comes in a flurry. “Oh my--I heard you arguing--are you o--” Sherlock scrambles to get off Wato while she tries to sit up but doesn’t make it far, slipping more comfortably onto Wato’s lap than anything. “-kay?” 

Wato looks back at Miss Hatano with a fish out of water look on her face. She looks back at Sherlock quickly, realizing how it looks with Sherlock straddling her lap and hands on her shoulders. 

Miss Hatano blinks furiously a few times. “Ah--” she lets out quietly, still taking in the scene. 

“Miss Hatano,” Wato tries, shifting underneath Sherlock. “We weren’t--” 

“We’re fine,” Sherlock’s clipped voice insists, stumbling onto her feet. 

“Sherlock and I were--” Wato jumps up besides Sherlock before she realizes how much of her shirt is unbuttoned and she quickly closes her shirt for her modesty. 

Miss Hatano brings her hand up to her mouth in shock but it’s obvious there’s a broad smile curling at the corner of her lips as her eyes shrink with glee. “Ah,” she lets out as if she founds out a secret. “I’m sorry I interrupted. I thought you were fighting again but I’m glad you’re not.” She smiles coyly at the both of them. “I won’t interrupt you anymore.” She waves her hand like it isn’t a big deal. “I’ll let you two have...alone time.” She lets out a giggle. 

Wato stutters and stammers looking frantically between Miss Hatano who is already halfway out the door and Sherlock who has become surprisingly quiet and blushing profusely? She does a double take. “Sherlock!” she cries out, trying to get Sherlock to explain to Miss Hatano. She slaps at Sherlock.

Sherlock instantly recoils. “What?” she lets out with annoyance. “You shouldn’t have worn my shirt.”

Wato balls her fists up near her head in frustration, trying desperately not to choke Sherlock. “You’re the worst!” She rushes after Miss Hatano. “Wait, Miss Hatano! Miss Hatano, wait! It’s not what you think!” 

Sherlock is left alone in the room, ruffling her hair in frustration. “How did this happen?” she grumbles to herself. Rather than chasing after Wato, she turns to the abandoned coffee and takes a gulp, letting the heat rush through her body to distract her from the intense moment earlier. “Ah, how bothersome.” 


End file.
